Une anagramme, un erratum
by LesMisLoony
Summary: There is a stranger in Constance's bedroom. On her wedding night.


Constance scrambled out of the carriage so quickly, her white skirts gathered in her hands, that she left her groom behind.

She had passed through the doors of Wolfgang's apartment so many times, but this time was different. This time felt permanent.

Not that she would never leave again, of course! She giggled at the image of dear little Wolfgang holding her prisoner. No, but this time she wasn't stopping in for a hurried visit with her secret suitor-this time she was entering her new domain as the lady of the house. No more ironing strange gentlemen's shirts or scolding her sisters for misbehaving when they should have been folding sheets: she was an independent woman now, not just a daughter. Not just Aloysia's little sister.

She crossed her arms and grinned at the empty hallway, smugly cocking her head to one side. She could remain tangled in Wolfgang's arms for as long as she wanted tomorrow morning! No rushing to gather up her clothes or jamming her feet into her stockings when she realized she'd fallen asleep, that morning was dawning and a few streets away her mother would be knocking on her bedroom door in less than an hour. No one would be shrieking her name up the stairs-after all, she was Madame Mozart now, not just _CON-STAN-CEUH_, the meek child lost in daydreams.

Speaking of being lost, her husband (husband!) was certainly taking his time coming up to the apartment! Well, she didn't have the key, so he must have it, she told herself, shutting the door. It would be a terrible thing if she let the apartment be robbed less than an hour after she had become Madame Mozart!

If Wolfgang was going to take so long to come up, she thought, she might as well surprise him. Biting back a cheeky grin, she reached around her back and began unpinning the ill-fitting bodice of her wedding gown. Yes, they were going to be able to take their time at last, but why delay?

She was so intent on untying her skirts and hoops as she pushed through the bedroom door that she didn't notice the intruder until she heard a woman's voice shout, "Oi! Who the hell do you think you are?"

Startled, Constance jumped backward, but she lost her grip on all her clothes and they sank down her body into a puddle of cheap silk, leaving her in nothing but her shift, stays, and stockings.

There was a half-naked woman in Wolfgang's bedroom-in HER bedrooom-on her wedding day. Well, two half-naked women now that Constance was here. The stranger was slightly more undressed than Constance, down to nothing but her shift, with one bony shoulder showing through the oversized undergarment. She was a thin woman with an angular face and dark hair swept up into an unruly pouf. Her hands were on her hips as she glared Constance down, as though Constance were the intruder!

"How- how dare you! Get out, get out at once!" Constance stammered. "What are you doing in here? Is this a cruel trick? It isn't funny!"

"You're damn right it isn't!" the stranger spat. "Go on, get! I'll not have a prostitute in the house on my wedding day!"

"A prostitute! How dare you? And it's also _my_ wedding day! Listen, madame, you've got the wrong address. Please collect your things or I'll have my husband-"

"Oi, I know where my own husband lives! You think I've never seen his bedroom before my wedding night? This is Wolfgang Mozart's house, lady, not whatever shopkeeper you're looking for."

"But- but Wolfgang is _my_ husband! We were married today!"

"What?" shrieked the stranger. She stomped up to Constance, kicking her fallen dresses out of the way with a bare foot. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she asked again.

"I- My name is Constance Web- Mozart. Constance Mozart. Madame, I can assure you that Monsieur Mozart and I were married today. It wasn't a large ceremony, but there were quite a few of our friends present to serve as witness. I can assure you-"

"_I'm_ Constance Mozart, lady. Do you think this is funny? Is this Wolfgang's idea of a joke?" the stranger cut in.

"But- Madame, surely you aren't trying to tell me that I don't know who I am! You must be mad!"

"Furious, more like!" said the stranger. "Now who the hell are you? Don't say you're me again, either! Wolfi and I have been seen all over Vienna, and everyone knew we were bound to be married sometime. My own mother even tried to-"

"Have him sign a marriage contract, yes, I know my own personal history, thank you," Constance interrupted.

The stranger narrowed her eyes. "Listen, if you're the real Constance Web- uh, Mozart- tell me something. Where did you meet Wolfi?"

"At my parents' home in Mannheim, of course. He came to tutor my elder sister, and I watched him play while she sang-"

"And listened to my parents plot to have him bolster her career," interrupted the stranger, the suspicion on her face mingling with confusion. "How did you know that? Did Josepha send you?"

"Listen, madame, this is all very droll, but my husband will be upstairs any minute, and-"

"The first time I spent the night here was a little over a year ago. Wolfgang was working on that opera about the brothel and the emperor had sent Salieri and that asshole Comte Rosenberg over to check up on him. He was dead silent the whole ride here, but I was worried so I walked him up to the apartment. I was getting ready to leave when he put his touched my cheeks like this-" the stranger cupped Constance's face in her hands, "-and whispered: 'Constance. Will you stay a little longer?'"

Constance gently took one of the stranger's hands away from her face and turned it over-there, on her finger, was a ring identical to the one Constance wore. "But I'm Constance Mozart," she murmured.

"When you were four years old, did Aloysia spill tea all over Maman's old wedding dress and blame you?"

Constance nodded. "Now that we're in Vienna, sometimes when Maman has had too much wine, she pulls that stained old rag out of her trunk and cries onto it. She still curses me for what Aloysia did."

"Before Papa died, he took me aside and told me to take care of her. He told me that Aloysia would be gone one day and Josepha and Sophie were too silly. He said that I was the responsible one. And throughout the wedding I kept asking myself-"

"Am I abandoning Maman? Will she need me? Did she ever need me?" Constance finished, her voice low.

Then, to her surprise, the stranger embraced her. "I don't know what the hell is going on," she said quietly, her breath tickling the blonde hairs at Constance's neck, "but I did the right thing. We did the right thing."

"Did we?" Constance blurted despite herself, and suddenly she couldn't resist throwing her own arms around the thin stranger.

They stood there for a long moment, clinging to each other, when suddenly the dark-haired Constance said, "God, you're pretty. Why are you the pretty one?"

"I- to be honest, I was thinking how jealous I am of your bravery. You weren't afraid to see an undressed stranger for an instant! I thought you were going to wring my neck!"

"I almost did," the other Constance laughed. She pulled out of the hug. "Maman will be fine, won't she?"

Constance cleared her throat, meeting the shorter woman's gaze. "I- I don't-"

"She will be," the other Constance said firmly. She nodded once, and then a grin broke out across her unfamiliar face. "Well, I don't have a damn clue what's going on, but if you're me, and I'm you, and you're gonna stand there being that gorgeous in your underwear, three steps away from a bed I'm still looking forward to using if Wolfgang ever gets out of the damn carriage-"

And for once, instead of overthinking and suppressing an impulse, Constance gave in. She seized the other Constance by her frail shoulders and kissed her, hard, right on the mouth.

That oversized shift was on the ground next to the identical wedding dresses an instant later.

* * *

Comte Rosenberg was an important man, he told himself irritably as he leaned against the wall in a distatefully poor section of Vienna. He was a very important man, in fact. It didn't matter who you were: if you had been addressed verbally by Comte Rosenberg at some point in your life-if you had forced him to sit through one of your damn confusing operas-then forgetting to invite Rosenberg to your wedding was inexcusable! Inexcusable!

He tutted to himself, crossing his hands over the top of his walking stick and pulling his tricorn a little lower over his eyes lest he be recognized. This was definitely that scoundrel Mozart's house, and the carriage that was rocking back and forth in the street, accompanied by a rather shocked driver standing near the horses, definitely contained Mozart himself. He hadn't even waited to get his bride indoors before he pulled up her skirts and plundered her, Rosenberg thought, disgusted. What a terrible creature indeed! If only there were a few more witnesses here to help spread _this_ rumor through the court! Never mind, Rosenberg would get it done himself.

He wasn't sure how long he had been in the street before the carriage door finally creaked open and Mozart staggered out, his white suit all askew and his hair even more mussed than usual. He had the stupefied grin of a man who had enjoyed himself far too much on his wedding night, Rosenberg noted, pulling his hat lower and swallowing the urge to tut again. Mozart turned back to the carriage and put out a hand so that his poor exhausted bride could descend, and-

Rosenberg was so startled that he dropped his cane, wincing as it clattered noisily against the cobblestones.

It wasn't the new Madame Mozart who descended from the carriage, but- Monsieur Mozart!

There were two Mozarts!

Rosenberg harrumphed, shaking his head, as the first Mozart pulled the other Mozart in for what must have been a goodbye kiss. He passed a hand over his eyes. How much had he drunk at the tavern that afternoon?

The beleaguered driver closed the door and climbed up to his seat, and as the carriage pulled away, Rosenberg saw a small man dressed in fine purple silks leaning on the other side of the street, pulling a tricorn over his brow to hide his face. Their eyes met.

Despite the dirty cobbles and the questionable section of town, Rosenberg fainted.


End file.
